


Come Into My Parlour

by Gaqalesqua



Series: Dating McCree (and constantly getting jumped) [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Begging, Bondage, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Femdom, Fluff, Forced Orgasm, Language Kink, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Vaginal Fingering, badly googled french, it's at the end, next in the series of 'gaqalesqua uses translate to write her foreign languages'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7433512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaqalesqua/pseuds/Gaqalesqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Widowmaker catches you in her web.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Into My Parlour

You were sticking to the rooftops this time around. You weren’t stupid.

You’d picked a good spot, overlooking the objective, defending it from the last few Talon operatives who’d come sniffing. McCree wasn’t far away, and he’d equipped you with a distress beacon after the last mission.

You peered through the scope at something on the ground below you, a perfectly round, black disk about the size of your head. A moment later, the sun passed over it, and you caught the emblem of a black widow in gleaming silver on it.

 _Widowmaker_.

Taking aim, you fired, bullet whizzing into the disk. A moment later, an ungodly amount of something that looked like metal cable burst into the air, and you ducked behind the high wall. When the quiet finally returned to your little corner of the map, you looked over the parapet to see a web of metal cable splayed out across the objective area. There was some digging into the wall a few inches below you, and you reached out to touch it.

Apparently, it was sticky.

Looks like you weren’t getting your glove back.

“Overwatch agents, be advised, Widowmaker has set traps at some of the objectives. Item is eight inches in diameter, disk-shaped, black, silver Widowmaker logo. Do not set it off, I repeat, do not set it off. Trap contains…well, a spider’s web. Made of metal. Trap is adhesive and will catch whatever touches it. Trust me. I’ve just lost a glove.”

 _“Roger that, love!”_ Tracer piped, and then your feed was filled with your teammates thanking you. You smiled, eyes skirting the perimeter.

 _“Well done, darlin’,”_ McCree chuckled in your ear.

“How’s things where you are?” you asked, pacing the rooftop.

 _“Just set off my own trap,”_ he replied. _“Nasty things, ain’t they?”_

“Widowmaker special,” you agreed.

_“You be careful sweetheart.”_

“You too, cowboy.”

The conversation terminated, and you scanned the trap below you, gun in hand. Your glove fluttered in the breeze. You sighed.

A hand snatched your comms device out of your ear, and as you turned, a boot shoved into your stomach. You fell back, winded, towards the trap. As you reached out to try and grasp a cable your foot slid along the metal, and you jerked to a stop as the adhesive held you there. Struggling, you flailed, your free foot catching another cable just a few feet from the other, spreading your legs wide open.

Oh, shit.

You found your back pressed against rows of slender metal that proved unnervingly good at holding you, hair dangling in the breeze as you tried to wriggle your way out of the web.  Somehow your arms caught on the metal and you were _really_ stuck now, only able to look up at the sky.

The sky, and Widowmaker, standing on the parapet, smirking down at you.

“ _Bonjour Cherie_ ,” she said calmly. “I have caught a fly after all.”

“Oh, fuck’s sake,” you breathed. Where was your pulser? In the glove, right? And all you needed to do was-

Oh, fuck.

Widowmaker dropped from the roof and slid down the web, skidding to a stop in front of your body. You needed to press down on your palm to activate the distress pulser, except there was a problem.

You couldn’t move your fingers.

“You have been warning your associates,” she continued, “deactivating so many of my traps, tearing down my webs. I thought that perhaps I might need to lure you, but it appears you are easy to catch after all.”

You struggled to clench your fingers as the Widowmaker gazed over you, her golden eyes sweeping your body.

“You are even in black like a little fly,” she chuckled humourlessly. “You look so pretty, splayed out across my web. It would be such a shame for you to die.”

You could feel the blush beginning in your cheeks and fought it off. God, really, now?!

Widowmaker’s hand gripped your thigh and your eyed widened, fingers twitching. Her cool palm slid down your leg and paused just before your mound, fingers tapping against your skin. You tried to shift away and she laughed, a mean little seductive noise that made your breath hitch. You cursed the tightness of the suit and the way it melded to your skin just moments before she slid a single finger over your crotch. You grunted, legs twitching as she pressed against where your clit was and made a single circle.

“Did you know that spiders play with their food?” she told you, balancing perfectly on the thin web with a disinterested expression on her beautiful face. “And you may prove a fun toy.”

You tried to move as she rubbed down your other thigh, both hands meeting as she caressed your mound gently. You tried to move your thumb, to arch your back, but god, whatever this adhesive was you weren’t going anywhere soon. The pressure of your lips against your clit was pleasant, entirely too pleasant.

“Oh god,” you breathed, as her fingers dug into the black leather.

“You will be calling me so much more,” the Widowmaker promised, and pulled, tearing the cloth covering you apart and displaying you to the sun.

Okay, so you forgot to put on underwear this morning, again, and it was Jesse’s fault, again. And now you were regretting it, again.

“ _Sans culotte_ ,” she chuckled, squeezing your thighs gently. _“Magnifique.”_

You wanted to say something in response but Widowmaker’s thumb slid against your nub and stroked. A sharp gasp left you, her touch skilled and too gentle. With each press of the digit you found yourself needing more, more pressure, more speed, and soon you were unwittingly arching into the stimulation.

“ _C’est belle, Cherie_ ,” she cooed, stroking a finger against your lower lips. “You will writhe for me.”

You let out a soft gasp as a single finger pressed inside you, curling just a little. You could feel how wet you were getting, and the noise of the digit within you burned the tips of your ears. The stroking was pulling more noises out of you, little whimpers that you tried to swallow, but then the finger found a spot on your walls and you cried out softly, and she pressed, just a little, hard enough for you to draw breath sharply.

“I will make you beg,” she told you calmly, as both finger and thumb began to rub a little faster, a little harder, and you could feel your orgasm rising already, a tension in your core that you couldn’t ignore. Every time you looked up, Widowmaker gazed down at you with her disinterested golden eyes and you shivered. Your hips bucked just a little as you strained your fingers again. There was only the littlest give, not nearly enough to reach your palm.

She pushed in a second finger and you cried out, inhaling just as she unzipped your suit and exposed your breasts. A small, mocking chuckle left her as she buried the digits to the knuckle and raised a hand to circle your nipple.

“ _Parfait_ ,” she sighed, and leaned over, her body moving like a snake. You couldn’t help but admire the curve of her hips and the expanse of her ass even as her lips closed around your breast. Your orgasm rushed up to you as her tongue twisted around your nipple, and you were writhing now, just like she’d said, almost completely stuck as you tried to-

Wait, what?! No, no, no!

The assassin withdrew her fingers at once, just before your orgasm crested, and lapped at your nipple. The dull ache of your impending climax didn’t fade in the slightest as she sucked on your nipple repeatedly, and you whined in need and frustration.

 _“Supplie-moi,”_ the assassin purred, teething your breast. “Beg me, little fly.”

“No,” you gasped. Her finger stroked your nub. “Oh!”

She moved light circles around the aching bud, her slick digit sending waves of soft pleasure running through you. Light taps against the soft, pulsing flesh had you shivering in moments.

“Beg me,” she repeated, and sucked on your other nipple. The quick burst of ecstasy made you buck.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, as the first joint of her middle finger slid into you. Your walls closed around it. “Oh...oh…”

“I will make you beg,” she promised, feeding more of her finger into you. She curved the digit perfectly against your sweet spot and you cried out.

“F-fuck!” you gasped. “U-uhhh!”

“You will plead for more,” she continued. “I can make you.”

She nipped at your stomach, tongue curling into your navel. You twitched as she slid a second finger back into you and stilled them both. Your muscles moved, trying to work against the digits and pull your orgasm back. Oh, it hurt…

“W-Widowmaker,” you whispered.

“ _Oui, Cherie?”_ she asked, thumbing your nub. You swallowed heavily.

“P-please,” you stammered. “I…I need…”

“Say it, little fly,” she purred. “Say it.”

“Please…make me come,” you managed.

Widowmaker flashed you a triumphant smile.

“ _Bien fait_ , little girl,” she mocked. Her fingers worked you hard and fast, blurring against your sweet spot until your entire body was twitching. The pleasure came roaring back, overwhelming you as her thumb stroked your nub, her free hand palming your breast. You pulled at your fingers, managing to bend them just a little more. Only an inch or two…

Widowmaker pushed a third finger inside you as you came, forcing the air out of your lungs, your orgasm so intense you felt like you were suffocating. You tried to close your thighs as the rough, expert fingers continued to probe you, but with the web holding you down, you were helpless to accept the stimulation.

“Widowmaker!” you whimpered. “O-oh, please!”

 _“Non, Cherie,”_ she murmured. “You begged to come, and I will make you come.”

Her head dipped between your legs and her tongue replaced her thumb. You screamed, the web tugging against you as the assassin sucked on your folds and clit. Blood rushed through your body, nipples pebbling, hard and aching, as your fingers twitched again. Her saliva was as cool as Reaper’s had been, her lips soft and expertly wrapped around your sex as she drove you down under.

“No, please, I can’t take any more,” you pleaded, but she just chuckled, vibrations lapping at your nerve endings and pushing another moan out of you. Her tongue made obscene, filthy noises as she tasted you, sucking on you as you fought for breath. Your body was caught between fleeing the overstimulation and chasing the pleasure, and your mind was rapidly fleeing you with each lick and lap she was pressing upon you.

You came again, pulling hard as you could against the metal, and with a cry of strength and effort your fingers pressed against the distress pulser hidden in your glove as Widowmaker continued to have her way with you. You were singing with delight even as one finger pulled out to rest at your rear entrance.

“How bout you step away from the agent?” a voice drawled, and you looked through blurry eyes to see a figure wrapped in red appearing from an alleyway.

“ _Merde!_ ” the assassin swore, leaping away from you towards her rifle. McCree’s shots rang past your head and the building near you spat out stone. Widowmaker’s grappler buried itself in the nearest building and she swung up onto the rooftop. For a brief moment you thought she might shoot you, but McCree was already moving to try and get her, and you slumped back against the metal, panting, as she disappeared.

“Thank god,” you whispered, as the cowboy turned to look at you. Something warm and soft landed on your torso, and you looked to see McCree’s serape draped across your naked belly.

“Well, nice a view as this is, darlin’,” he chuckled, “how the hell’m I meant to get you down?”

“Deactivate the trap?” you called, grabbing a needed lungful of air as your cowboy approached the black disk.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You recalled how to breathe as McCree tinkered with Widowmaker’s trap. There was a clack and a whizz, and then you were falling as the metal dissipated. Before you could hit the ground, you found yourself in McCree’s arms, and he curled a supportive hand around your back, offering you a near dirty smile.

“That sure was somethin’,” he said. “Looked pretty good up there.”

“You’re an asshole,” you muttered, as he kissed your forehead.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said gently. “Let’s get you back to HQ. Wanna get you outta here before the spider comes back and you see me straight up murder a lady.”

“Get in line,” you told him. “I call dibs on offing her.”

“See, I wanna say yes, ‘cause you got reasons of pride, but I gotta say no, ‘cause I shoulda been there. Next time, I will be.”

“You can’t be everywhere at once,” you pointed out to him.

“Sweetheart, until I get roughed up by Talon, twice, and you don’t learn to watch my ass, you ain’t allowed to excuse my lax security,” he said firmly.

“Jesse…”

“Let’s just get you back to HQ, darlin’.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bonjour, cherie - hello, sweetheart  
> Sans culotte - without knickers/panties  
> Magnifique - this one is pretty damn obvious  
> C'est belle - it's beautiful  
> Parfait - perfect  
> Supplie-moi - beg me (though I have a feeling I've used the wrong tense)  
> Oui - yes  
> Bien fait - well done  
> Non - no  
> Merde - shit


End file.
